


blame it all upon a rush of blood to the head

by dorothymcshane



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:16:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2850575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorothymcshane/pseuds/dorothymcshane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Clara and Twelve meet at an airport while they’re waiting for their flights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blame it all upon a rush of blood to the head

**Author's Note:**

> Another quick one shot with Clara and Twelve. I hope you like it. xx

Clara’s plane is two hours late because of the snow storm raging outside Heathrow airport and she’s slowly beginning to come to terms with that she’s going to miss the wedding. Her dad and Linda are finally getting married after five years together and she’s not going to be there. Instead, she’s sitting in a café in the airport, sipping on a cup of tea, fighting the urge to cry. She had to get up at four o’clock in the morning to get to the airport in time and is so tired that she could fall asleep on the table.

   “Can I sit here?” an older man interrupts her thoughts, gesturing towards the chair on the other side of the table that Clara’s sitting at. He’s tall and skinny with tousled grey hair, dressed in a black jumper with holes in it under a matching coat with red lining, holding a cup of coffee in one of his hands.

   Clara shrugs. “Yeah, sure, go on.”

   “You look terrible,” he says, settling down on the chair.

   “Thanks for the compliment,” Clara says, grimacing at him.

   “I didn’t mean to insult you, I just …”

   “I know. It’s been a long morning, that’s all.”

   “Where are you going?” he asks her, taking a gulp of his coffee. “Or are you waiting for someone?”

   “I’m going to Blackpool for my dad and his fiancée’s wedding, but my plane is late, so I’m most likely not going to get there in time for it.”

   “I’m sorry to hear that.”

   “Yeah,” Clara says. “And you? Where are you going?”

   He looks down at his cup. “To Glasgow for my mum’s funeral.”

   Clara instinctively reaches for one of his hands across the table, because even though it’s almost been ten years since her own mother died, the pain she feels when she thinks about it is still as deep. “I’m so sorry.”

   “Well,” he says, still avoiding her gaze, “she’s been ill for a long time, so it wasn’t a surprise, but, yeah, I’ve had better days.”

   “I hate airports,” Clara says, letting go of his hand and turning her attention back to her tea cup.

   “Terrible places,” he agrees. “Full of lost luggage and lost souls.”

   “We should just get out of here.”

   “Definitely.”

   A smile tugs at the corners of Clara’s mouth.

   “Do you like your dad’s fiancée?” the man asks her, slowly stirring his coffee.

   “Not really,” she admits, and it’s nice not to have to pretend that she does, for once. “But I know he loves her, so I’m happy for him. Are you married?”

   “That’s a blunt question,” he says, a trace of a smile playing on his lips.

   Clara hides her own smile behind her cup. “Sorry. It’s my mouth, I think it’s got a mind of its own.”

   “I was,” he says after a short silence. “Still am, I suppose, but I haven’t seen her in years. It’s complicated. And you?”

   “Oh, I’m definitely not married,” Clara says. “My love life is a disaster. I’m dating this man who works at the same school as I do, but I think we both know that it’s not going to last for much longer.”

   “You’re a teacher?”

   Clara nods. “English teacher. You?”

   “I’m a doctor. Do you like your job?”

   “I do. I worked as a nanny for several years before I got this job, so I’m really happy to have it, now. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do. Or, well, it, and travel the world.”

   “You’re young,” the man says, “you still have time to do anything you want to.”

   Clara laughs. “I’m twenty-eight. Not _that_ young anymore.”

   “Then what am I, ancient?” he asks, but she can see his dim blue eyes twinkle.

   “No, you’re fine,” she says, feeling her cheeks blush.

   In the next moment, a voice announces that it’s time for boarding the plane to Blackpool in the speakers of the airport, and Clara empties her cup of tea and puts her coat back on. 

   “My plane,” she says, before taking a deep breath and meeting the man’s eyes. “It was nice to talk to you.”

   “Likewise,” he says. “I hope you have fun at the wedding. Or at the wedding party, if you miss it. Eat a piece of cake for me.”

   “I will,” Clara says, and then she decides that fuck it, she has to take the risk, and fumbles for her phone in one of the pockets of her coat. “Can I … can I have your number?”

   He looks surprised, but gives her a tentative smile and takes her phone to enter his number. “There.”

   “Thank you,” Clara says, a smile spreading across her own face, before she leaves him behind in the café. On the way to her gate, she sends him a message.

   _i hope this is your real number and that i’m not embarrassing myself by texting a made up phone number right now_

It doesn’t take many seconds before her phone beeps.

   _yeah, sorry, this is definitely not my real number_

Her mouth twitches and she quickly types him another message.

   _have coffee with me again, when i get back to london_

Her phone beeps again almost instantly.

_i would love to_

And maybe, just maybe, the delay of her flight wasn’t that big of a disaster, after all.


End file.
